


Comfortable

by natimesia



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27507655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natimesia/pseuds/natimesia
Summary: Even tells Isak things he doesn’t need to hear.Isak listens.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen, Even Bech Næsheim/Sonja (SKAM)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 65





	Comfortable

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Comfortable by John Mayer.

Even starts the conversation with: “I’m sleeping with this girl. Her name is Sonja and she’s pretty amazing.”

“Hello to you, too, Even,” is Isak’s response, an amused look dancing across his face. He scoots over, making space for Even as the latter unceremoniously drops down and plops himself beside him.

Even smiles, suddenly shy. “I’m a little drunk,” he admits.

“I figured.” Isak eyes the bottle of beer on Even’s hand and then goes to look back up to him. His eyes are a bit cloudy; his gaze a bit wavering. It’s not Even’s first drink of the night, Isak thinks.

“I just thought you wanted to know.” 

Even’s clearly abashed, and if Isak says so himself, a little uncomfortable.

“Oh, do I?” he teases, adding a light but sarcastic tone to his remark. “Is that the first thing I need to know after you disappeared from the face of the Earth? It’s been a couple of months, you know.”

Isak’s just teasing Even, but the latter still lowers his head in deep shame. 

“Sorry about that.” 

Even doesn’t offer any other explanation. Isak accepts it as it is.

He nudges Even’s shoulder. “I’m just kidding, Even. I do want to know.” 

“It’s a little hard,” Even mumbles. “The last thing I wanna do is make you feel uncomfortable.” 

“I am never uncomfortable around you,” is Isak’s easy response.

He watches as pink-tinted cheeks immediately turn tomato red. “You can’t say things like that anymore, Isak,” Even moans.

Isak chuckles. “I’m sorry?”

Even pauses for a second. “I just . . . I just think that you should know. And I want you to hear it from me personally.” Another short pause. “I mean, we’re friends first, before anything else, right?”

It finally dawns to Isak - the hesitation in Even’s whole demeanor, the excessive drinking, the constant fidgeting. Even has been tense ever since he arrived. His apprehension is suddenly very visible, and Isak belatedly realizes his discomfort. 

A heavy weight seems to settle on his stomach then. Once upon a time, one look at the man beside him and he knew straight away what he was thinking. Isak hates the fact that he wasn’t able to see it as fast as he could now. But he hates it more when even after everything that has happened between them, he only ever wants to be the only one who can easily read Even. Because the thing is, Isak couldn’t be selfish anymore. He already lost the right to be so.

And what’s more aggravating is that he never thought they’d be the people that they are today. He definitely envisioned a different scenario in his head; he’s pretty sure Even did, too.

Yet, here they are, finally facing the reality of their situation - this time by choice, and it’s hard enough as it is; Isak refuses to add up and succumb to the absurdity of it all. 

Pushing all the nasty thoughts off his head, Isak says, “Of course. You can always tell me anything, Ev. You know that.” He then nudges Even’s shoulder again, this time in encouragement. Even’s already tense as it is; the least he could so is to lighten up the mood. “Tell me more about this new girlfriend, then. Is she prettier than me?” He flatters his eyelashes exaggeratedly for effect.

Even smirks. “Way prettier,” he says. Isak plays offense and shoves Even away, eliciting a giggle from the latter. 

“Where did you meet?” he asks.

Suddenly, Even’s eyes twinkle in amusement. It was a bit comical, really. “You’ll never believe it,” he says. Isak raises his eyebrow in interest. 

“What?” he urges.

Even takes a deep inhale for effect, and makes an exhale with, “We met at the market.”

And just like that, memories start flooding in:

_Meny. Aisle 5._

_Isak sneaking behind Even._

_Isak jumping on Even’s shopping cart._

_Even being so startled he pushed the cart away._

_Even watching in horror as the cart rolled away and straight into a rack full of magazines._

_Isak crashing._

_Isak crashing loud._

_Isak crashing so loud_ _t_ _he store owner started yelling in surprise and annoyance._

_Even running up to him in panic, easily lifting him by the armpits and helping him stand._

_Isak and Even being asked (ordered) by the owner to leave immediately._

_Isak and Even sprinting away as far as possible._

_Even stopping from his tracks three blocks down, and Isak stopping, too, and then there was a frantic and incredulous ‘what on Earth did you do that for?!’_

_And an ‘It’s your fault! I was trying to get your attention for so long, but you never noticed me!’_

_Then - ‘What - who even are you?!’_

_An answer: ‘My name’s Isak! What’s yours?’_

_Even looking so bewildered, but nonetheless muttering, ‘Even.’_

“Sonja,” Even breathes her name in awe and wonder, effectively bringing Isak back to the present.

Even leans back a bit and stares at the dark sky. Isak watches him do so; and it’s because of it that he witnessed the smile slowly grace on Even’s lips, as if just thinking about her makes him happy. Isak unconsciously smiles too.

“She’s something else, man.”

Isak has nothing else to offer but a hum, indicating for Even to continue.

“She’s very smart. Has a great sense of humor, too. You’d get along really well.”

Isak likes to believe they would.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, though,” Even says, perching up a bit. “She’s pretty great, but I have a bit of a hard time getting used to her.”

Even passes him a glance, gauging his reaction as he continues with: “Her whole family is very religious. Her father is a preacher.” 

Isak’s eyebrow rises in interest. 

“They’re all very conservative,” Even continues. “I met them just recently, actually.”

“How did it go?” Isak asks, genuinely curious. 

“It was fine,” he answers, short. Isak waits for more, but Even seems reluctant to continue.

“What happened?” he says as soft as he could without sounding patronizing. It sounds like a touchy subject for Even.

“Nothing happened. It was just that: fine.”

Isak waits for the _‘but’._

“But,” Even says (Isak smiles a bit; Even is still as predictable as ever),“There was this thing. It caught me off guard a bit, to be honest. That night, just before meeting them for dinner, they, uh, she - Sonja, um, she kinda asked me if I could tone down the swearing a little bit. While in front of them, at least.”

Isak’s brain tries to process the information. His mouth opens as he fishes for the right words. “Oh?” is what comes out. “That’s . . . um-”

Even rolls his eyes. “You can say it, Isak.”

Isak scoffs at the call-out. “That must be hard for you, is what I wanna say,” he defends. Even’s eyes are squinting, suspicious. Isak takes it as him eagerly waiting for the impending jibe, so with his left eyebrow rising up by its lonesome, he continues with, “Considering that you’re the most foul-mouthed person I know.”

“Oi! Fuck off!” Even exclaims, but there is a huge smile on his face. “Speak for yourself, trashmouth,” he jibes back.

“Trashmouth!” Isak squawks and tries to swat Even’s arm. Even laughs as he dodges the half-hearted attempts.

“It’s true; don’t even try to deny it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Isak responds haughtily.

“You got a sailor mouth, Isak Valtersen. And to think that I was so innocent before you!”

“Innocent?!” Isak protests.

“Oh how you’ve corrupted me, truly!” Even conveys the sentence with a bit of a flair of dramatics - one hand on the chest and the other across his temple.

“Innocent my ass,” Isak grumbles, but he’s having a hard time suppressing the smile begging to burst from his lips just to uphold his angry facade. “There is nothing innocent about you, Even Bech Næsheim.”

“I can say the same for you, Isak Valtersen.” 

The way Even says it, and the way he glances at Isak’s lips for the tiniest second before glancing back up to his eyes makes Isak’s heart pinch a bit. Even tried to hide it, but Isak saw. Isak can see right through him. Always have, always will.

They share a knowing, sentimental look for a brief second, but Even immediately breaks it off. “It was nothing, anyway,” he says in reference to their previous conversation. “I mean I understand, of course - they really are all very religious, so the request is valid. I’m actually kind of thankful for the heads up, really. Didn’t want to offend her folks and leave a bad first impression.”

“Hey. I’m sure they loved you,” Isak says, believing every word. Even has a way with charming people, even the ones he only just met. Isak’s mama and papa being perpetually in love with him, Exhibit A.

“I really hope so,” Even mumbles, biting his lip.

Isak studies him for a bit, and then he smiles.

“You really like this girl, don’t you? Son-ja.” 

Her name rolls out of his tongue so smoothly. 

“I mean, Elias does, so.”

“He does?” 

The surprised tone in Isak’s voice is evident, but that’s only because Elias has always been apprehensive about welcoming new people in the group. Isak remembers the first time Even first introduced Jonas, Magnus and Mahdi to the boys and how it took more than two weeks for Elias to warm up to them.

“All the guys do, really.”

Suddenly, Isak can sense the apprehension back on Even’s visage as he notices him averts his gaze from Isak’s and starts picking on the sticker label of the beer bottle absentmindedly. 

It takes a while for Isak to speak. He watches Even pick on the grass next as he mumbles, “That’s . . . that says a lot. That’s good, Ev.”

Isak can tell the exact moment the relief bleeds through Even’s pores. Even is trying so hard not to be subtle that he ends up being so obvious. 

He finally meets Isak’s eyes, and it pierces right through his, and out of the blue he could hear Even’s voice uttering: _Your gaze, Isak. It could kill_ , _don’t you know?_ he used to say. He has always been blunt when it comes to him. _It could kill me._

Isak didn’t know how to react then; he certainly wouldn’t know how to react now.

“Yeah,” Even speaks, taking him back to the now. “They said she’s gonna be good for me. Threw me high fives and all that.”

Isak’s smile widens a bit as his eyes gloss a bit. “High fives, wow,” he muses. “She must be really special, then. Rumor has it that those are usually quite the challenge to earn.”

“You wouldn’t know,” Even says. They both shared a fond smile.

“I brought her to Adam's birthday celebration last week,” he adds. “Life of the party, she was.”

Isak has a genuine smile on his face when he says, “She sounds fun, Even.”

Even bobs his head in agreement. “Yeah, she is. It was surprising, really, how easy it was for her to get along with the guys.” He pauses. “Um, I don’t think she appreciated some of their choice of words, though.”

Isak snorts. “Anyone would be appalled with the vocabulary of those guys.”

Just like that, he suddenly hears in his head Mutta’s _cock juggling thundercunt, that’s fucking hot, Jesus fucking Christ!_ when he was dared by Adam to swallow Mamma Bakkoush’s fresh-from-the-oven meatballs.

“I don’t think she likes Mikael very much, though,” Even admits.

The statement makes Isak scrunch his tiny, button nose. Now that’s a surprise. Unlike Elias, Mikael gets along literally with everyone. He’s one of the most affable guys Isak’s ever known - second to Even, that is.

“Mik?” Isak repeats. “How can you tell?”

Looking down on his grass-stained hands, he watches Even play around with his ring for a while before answering, “Do you remember the gala?”

Just the mention of the word ‘gala’ brought so much sour memories in an instant. Echoes of racist and homophobic slurs from Even’s mouthy boss rings through Isak’s ears just now, instantly making him feel nauseous and agitated at the same time. 

Safe to say that that was absolutely not the best night of his life, and Even in a three piece suit looking particularly dashing was the only good thing that came out of the whole ordeal, really. But for some particular reason, Even seems amused by all of it as he brings up the topic every chance he gets.

Isak grits his teeth unconsciously. “You’re going to remind me, aren’t you,” he grumbles, cheeks tinting a bit.

“I was hoping you’d remind me,” Even teases.

Isak’s response is a scowl. If he could, he’d bury the memory with him.

Chuckling, Even says, “I’ll never forget the way you held yourself that night. I saw right through you, you know. Those fake smiles, _God_ , they were so funny, especially when I knew you were just burning mad deep inside.”

“Is there a point to this story,” Isak deadpans.

Even pauses for a bit. “Sonja had the same look as you while she was talking to Mikael,” he explains. 

And - _oh?_

Even continues, “They were both trying, at least, but God, the way the tension could cut glass, Isak. You should’ve seen it. You should’ve been there.”

Isak hesitates for a bit before asking, “What happened exactly?”

It’s a stupid question, because somehow he knows the answer - _of course_ he does. Isak just refuses to believe it.

It took quite a long time before Even found the right words. “You know Mik,” is what he settled with, dismissive tone apparent in his voice. “He’s just always been loyal.”

Isak chooses his next words carefully, and he tries to say it while making sure Even could hear and feel the sincerity in his voice. “Mikael is a reasonable man, Ev,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “He probably just needs time.”

Even snorts with a subtle eye roll. “Sure. _He_ needs time.”

Isak ignores the sarcasm. “Maybe plan a friendly date. You can’t have your best friend and girlfriend dislike each other. That sounds like a nightmare in the making.”

“Mik was the one acting strangely, so I’ll have to talk to him first,” Even says. “I’m just not used to this, you know? We’ve never had the same problem before.”

“I think you should find something they both have interests in.”

Even exhales. “Well, the Bible is all that she reads, and Mik’s a Muslim, so sharing gospels is definitely out of the question.”

“Seriously?”

“That’s what she told me,” Even shrugs. “She loves art, and Mik does, too. Maybe that’s something they could bond over.”

Isak whistles, feeling relieved as the slight tension dissipates a bit. “Damn, Even, you really lucked out on this one, huh?”

Even releases a smile, and Isak immediately regrets his choice of words. 

He knows that smile; he used to hate seeing it on Even’s face. It’s a mixture of sarcasm and bitterness, and it used to irk Isak to no end - how Even looked so smug and resigned at the same time. It was a weird combination of emotions, but somehow, Isak understands, especially now, and that’s because luck is something they’d never associate themselves with these days. Once upon a time, Isak did; he thought he was the luckiest bastard in the whole world. The feeling was surreal; like he was on top of the world. He rode it out as long as he could, Even did, too, but as all things go, their luck ran its own course.

Suddenly, the air between them feels heavy once again.

“Yep,” Even says, short and curt. He raises the bottle of beer up to his mouth and takes a careless swig. Isak watches his every move, but he doesn’t say anything else. “I don’t believe her, though,” he says after flippantly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “The Bible part, maybe, but the other one,” Even shakes his head no.

“Why is that?” Isak bites.

Even doesn’t respond for a while. Isak patiently waits. Finally, he moves, passing Isak a quick side eye before haughtily saying, “She can’t even distinguish Miles from Coltrane.”

The loud laugh that jolts out of Isak surprises and delights him. “Oh, but of course!” he exclaims. “Because that’s the ultimate standard of artsy according to the artsiest of all, isn’t that right, Even Bech Næsheim?”

He knows right then and there that it’s not just him that can hear the faint sound of jazz playing in the background washed by the soft chatter of people enjoying their hot coffee and bread, and everyone were all too invested in their own conversations and their own little world, and Isak couldn’t blame them, really - nobody pays much attention on the background music, and _it’s just jazz,_ Magnus would say.

But then -

Then he noticed the song, and he couldn’t contain the gasp escape from his mouth as realization hits, and he was just a blubbering mess at that point, because _‘Are you hearing this? Jesus Christ, Miles is a beast on the trumpet, but Coltrane is killing it on the sax. Can you hear the difference? Listen. Listen, Even!’_

Isak’s excitement apparently left a mark on Even, because he was supposed to be the pretentious one in the relationship, but there Isak was proving him wrong and surprising him with his keen ears for jazz music and overblown elation over such a minute detail. ‘ _That was the moment’_ , Even used to say to him over and over again, _‘I knew it. I knew deep in my bones. ‘This is it,’ I thought. You were it.’_

What a pleasant, bittersweet memory that was, and Isak was having a bit of a hard time comprehending the sudden overwhelming feelings surging through his veins just now, but apparently not hard enough to miss the, “You could, though,” leaving Even’s lips oh so quietly.

“Who wouldn’t? It’s Miles and Coltrane,” Isak tries to lighten up the mood for the nth time. He sees the side of Even’s mouth turn up a little.

“You wanna hear something funny?” Even didn’t wait for Isak’s response before he barrels on, “I just realized that you never told me not to swear. Never told me to do something I don’t wanna do, never dictated me on anything. You never wanted to change anything about me, did you?”

Isak suffers a bit of a whiplash by the sudden turnabout of the conversation. He does not know what to say. 

Apparently, Even has a lot.

“Marianne almost had a heart attack with the way we curse at each other, do you remember? I’m pretty sure she hated me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Mamma loves you,” Isak prompts, and it’s the truth. Marianne _adored_ Even.

“Not the first meeting,” Even says. “In my defense, you never mentioned she was _that_ religious.”

“That didn’t have anything to do with her meeting you, so why should I?”

“I know, but you should’ve told me.”

“I wanted her to like you as you.”

Even smiles. It was sad. “Exactly.”

Even wills himself to stand up and stretch then. He’s towering over Isak’s small frame with this angle, and it was such an imposing stance, but Isak didn’t say anything.

They’re both silent for a while.

“You never experienced having to earn a high five because it was never a challenge for you,” Even speaks suddenly, surprising Isak. He sounds louder than before, and he also took note of the fact that Even just slurred a bit. “Elias never needed to warm up to you because he was half in love with you the moment you met; Adam and Yousef and Mutta, too. Sana always said you annoy her, but she speaks the world of you, Isak. And Mik . . . God, Is. The kid _worshipped_ you. You had them all wrapped around your fingers.”

“Even . . .” 

Isak’s voice is too soft as a warning, but they both know it is. _Stop now, Even, before you get hurt,_ is what Isak wants to convey, and he’s expressing it so well with his eyes, and Even reads it so clearly, but Isak’s got it wrong because Even _is_ hurt. 

Even is nothing but hurt nowadays.

Isak braces himself for the next words.

“Did you know that Sonja hates her face bare? She’s so pretty, Isak, but she still wears make-up everyday. And she does it so good, too. She always look so beautiful.”

His eyes travel to Isak’s clothes then. “All of her clothes are designer too, can you believe? She always looks so pristine, Mutta said I look like a literal trash whenever I stand next to her. I never saw her wear sweatpants, Isak!”

Even looks and sounds manic at this point.

“Ev-”

“But you! You lived in your sweatpants, didn’t you? You wore them so much the black turns to gray. I had to wrangle them out of you to wash, but you’d just steal mine instead, being the stubborn brat that you are. You never wore make-up, too, however dark those circles under your eyes are from playing Fifa with Linn all night.

And you were just perfect, Isak Valtersen, weren’t you?”

“Even, sit down, please?” Isak asks softly. 

Even ignores him.

“But she’s perfect too, Isak,” he continues, already too caught up with his own thoughts to be interrupted. “Sonja’s perfect, too, and she’s so fucking flawless, _herregud._ ”

Isak nods. “She does sound perfect for you, Even,” he says earnestly.

“But so were you.” Even’s lip trembles as tears start to well up from both corners of his eyes. “You were perfect for me too, baby.”

Even crumples right there. No longer able to hold his pain, he falls to the ground in a disheveled heap as his grief pours out in a flood of uncontrollable tears. 

Isak doesn’t do anything but to look at his ex-lover’s face with pity, and he knows that was it; that’s what Even hates the most. He wants to reach out and console the man who keeps on breaking his heart, but he doesn’t; he can’t. He’ll only make it worse at this point.

“They said I should see other people, and I did. They said I should move on, and I’m trying, and heaven knows how hard I try. But, _God_ , we were so broken in, Isak,” Even chokes. “We were so comfortable, weren’t we?”

Isak closes his eyes to keep the tears from falling, but it was too late. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Even,” he says quietly after a long pause. 

Even laughs bitterly, sadly. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? You can’t say anything. There’s nothing you can say that will make things better. But I just . . . I don’t understand, Isak, and I hate it. I hate it so much. I just hate everything these days.

I hate how Sonja fits in so well with the group. I hate the high-fives, and how Elias welcomes her so fast just because I need it and only because she’s apparently good for me. 

I hate her perfect teeth, and her bright blue eyes, and her unblemished skin, and her unscarred face. I don’t like that she’s the same height as you, and I fucking hate that we met at the market. 

I hate how I know when she’s faking things, because I know when _you_ do, and I never wanted to know that about her or anyone else because I am perfectly content in knowing you, and I know everything about you, Isak. Everything. 

I know that the only thing that will wake you up are either my special eggs or kisses, and sometimes when you’re feeling particularly grumpy, you want both, nothing more, nothing less.

I know how you look the first thing in the morning, with your red puffy eyes filled with sleep dust. I know how horrid your breath smells after a good night sleep but I still kiss you anyway, and I know how smelly your feet are after a long day. 

I know that half of your cap collection is stolen from Jonas, and I know that you’d rather bang Magnus than Mahdi, and the only reason why you lied about it is because Mahdi’s girlfriend just broke up with him that time and you wanted to boost his confidence a little bit.

I know that you could live off of bread for the rest of your life if you have to, and I know you self-proclaimed yourself as allergic to broccoli just so Noora wouldn’t force you to eat her salad. I know your favorite underwear has holes on them, I know that you have a birthmark on the inner part of your left thigh, and I know you can’t boil water properly even if your life depends on it.

I know your every favorite. I know what you want, what you hate. I know what you smell like, feel like. I know what you taste like, Isak.

And the thing is, I hate how new everything is, because I’m still not ready to let go of the old things, of our stuff, of you.

The new bedsheet smells like fresh lavender and roses, but I’d trade it with the pungent smell of your never-washed and spunk-tainted ones in a heartbeat.

The new apartment is on the ground floor, but I’d rather climb six flights of stairs with your scowling face waiting by the door, nagging me every single time I forgot to take the clothes out of the laundry.

The whole place looks so clean all the time now, but I miss your shoes in the bedroom, and your pants over the back of the couch, and your socks on the kitchen table.

And you know what I hate the most? I hate the fact that I have Sonja, and she is perfect, Isak, she’s so, so perfect, but I’m not impressed, and I just want you back, and I hate it so much because I shouldn’t.

Because you died, Isak, and I’m still here, and Sonja is here, too, and I know you hate it when I say this, but I don’t think I want to be here without you anymore.”

All alone in the cemetery, Even closes his eyes, lays down right on Isak’s grave _comfortably_ , and there he weeps.

**Author's Note:**

> Comfortable
> 
> I just remembered that time at the market  
> You snuck up behind me and jumped on my shopping cart  
> And rode down aisle 5  
> You looked behind you and smiled back at me  
> Crashed into a rack full of magazines  
> They asked us if we could leave
> 
> Can't remember what went wrong last September  
> Though I'm sure you'd remind me if you had to
> 
> Our love was comfortable and so broken in
> 
> I sleep with this new girl I'm still getting used to  
> My friends all approve, say she's gonna be good for me  
> They throw me high fives  
> She says the Bible is all that she reads  
> And prefers that I not use profanity
> 
> Your mouth was so dirty  
> Life of the party  
> And she swears that she's artsy  
> But you could distinguish Miles from Coltrane
> 
> Our love was comfortable and so broken in  
> She's perfect  
> So flawless  
> Or so they say, hey  
> Say, hey
> 
> She thinks I can't see the smile that she's faking  
> The poses for pictures that aren't being taken
> 
> I loved you  
> Gray sweat pants  
> No makeup  
> So perfect
> 
> Our love was comfortable and so broken in  
> She's perfect  
> so flawless  
> I'm not impressed
> 
> I want you back


End file.
